


Gods: Looking To Get Fucked Hard

by OneEyedDestroyer



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Eliot being extra, Gods and Monsters, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Quentin being Quentin, Recreational Drug Use, Rimming, Seduction, Threesome, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-28 20:04:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15056750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneEyedDestroyer/pseuds/OneEyedDestroyer
Summary: When Gods and mortals have sex, you’d assume it’s always the Gods with all the control.Vignettes of our Questers finding a little divine pleasure.Part 1: UmberPart 2: Bacchus





	1. Umber

**Author's Note:**

> For Week Six of The Welters Challenge: Gods and Monsters. 
> 
> I couldn’t resist throwing in a tiny nod to Lana. This week’s Welters theme really mused me, you guys. I figured I’d take a risk and incorporate a couple of characters and dynamics I’ve never written before. This piece was definitely a Challenge™️ to write, but I had so much fun doing it. I hope you enjoy this wacky little rarepair adventure.
> 
> As always special thanks to the machete squad ([ **Rae** ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/highestkingbambi) and [ **Vivi** ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vivi_Marius)) for pushing me to write the strongest work I can, and thanks to the Free Traders for all their suggestions and support. I would have totally forgotten about part two if it wasn’t for their glorious thirst.

The Vancouver sun has finally set and the unsettling quiet of Umber’s home is pierced by the soft crackling of flames. Eliot and Quentin stand opposite the ram-horned God; they’ve been here for hours, making poor attempts at securing the clock portal for their use.

 

“If you won't give us the clock, how about we make a trade?” Eliot offers, his voice deceptively stern. Quentin cocks his head in confusion.

 

Softly rocking back and forth, hands interlocked behind his back, Umber subtly shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “What could you possibly have that would interest me, Your Majesty?” Quentin nods slightly, he might be more confused than Umber. After he speaks, Umber brings his pipe to his lips and inhales deeply.

 

“Something you can’t achieve on your own.” Umber stops in his tracks and slowly turns to face Eliot. The warm lighting hits his face and horns with the drama of a baroque painting, Quentin sighs in pure awe. “A moment of balance,” Eliot conspicuously appraises Umber with hungry eyes. “Pleasure,”he continues, deliberately licking his lips, seemingly to no effect. Eliot has seduced many men (and the rare woman) in his lifetime, but he’s never taken a God. He’s confident in his skills, but still trying to sort out the strongest approach. Umber’s reserved, controlled nature will be difficult to shake loose. “You said it yourself. We were meant to entertain,” he says shooting a pointed glance at Quentin, hoping he’ll pick up on his intentions. He slips his jacket over his shoulders, holding the garment in his hand for a moment, deciding where to place it in this perfectly ordered world; Umber watches carefully. “Debauchery is my forte.”

 

Umber brings his pipe to his chin, and purses his lips, carefully considering his words. “Unlike my brother, I don’t fill every waking hour with the pursuit of such debased frivolity.”

 

“Unlike your brother, you possess a certain...” Eliot pauses for dramatic effect, “Sophistication that piques my interest,” Umber nods, a bit smug, as if it didn’t need to be said. “I wouldn’t be caught dead in Ember’s filthy little cave.” A soft laugh falls from Umber’s lips. In a swift flourish, Eliot inverts the jacket and neatly folds it into a compact square. Umber nods in approval as he continues to observe. Placing the jacket carefully on the arm of the couch, Eliot makes his first steps toward Umber.

 

“‘Filthy’ is a polite word for it,” Umber says with what almost looks like glee. Perhaps Umber won’t be as difficult to crack as he thought.

 

“Do we have a deal?” Eliot steps closer to Umber and reaches his hand for his shoulder. Umber evades his touch with a simple step to the side.

 

“As soon as you present me with something interesting,” he says, shooting a glance over at Quentin who is holding a child-sized limited edition Fillory and Further watch against his wrist, using his free fingers to cast what looks to be an enlargement spell.

 

“What did I say about touching?” His voice reverberates around them, and Quentin, mid spell, nearly jumps out of his skin.

 

“S-Sorry,” he stutters, flustered. “Sorry.” He drops the watch to the glass shelf with a clang. He turns to walk away from the curio cabinet, but manages to stumble into the end table beside him.

 

Fuming from Umber’s dismissal, Eliot’s eyes burn white hot with offense as he exhales sharply through tight lips. Before he can snap his response, Umber continues where he left off before scolding Quentin. “Earlier,” he says sharply, flaunting his control. “You said, ‘We were meant to entertain,’” placing his emphasis on the first word that came from Eliot’s mouth. “Does that mean the sad little nerd King will join us?” He asks stroking the mouthpiece of his pipe along his bottom lip. They both look to Quentin who shifts his attention rapidly from one to the other, and back again, face growing deeper red as the seconds pass. Eliot captures his eyes, and gives him a comforting, yet stern narrowing of his eyes.

 

“That is up to him,” he replies; he’s stoned face and self assured, but his eyes are desperately pleading with Quentin to understand. He watches Quentin think it over, shaky hands slide into his hair as his lips make subtle movements. Eliot can almost see the thought process. Quentin is overwhelmed, a little lost, but can’t possibly want to pass on the opportunity to fuck one of the Gods of Fillory.

 

Quentin paces around the room, stumbling as he mutters to himself. His shin collides with a glass end table, the bang and clattering of his clumsiness shatters the carefully curated quiet of the room. Eliot laughs to himself at the adorable awkwardness, he catches a quick smile before it flees Umber’s lips. After a moment of fretting, Quentin nods and shrugs his jacket off his shoulders. Before he has the chance to discard it lazily, Eliot skips over to take it from his grasp. He folds Quentin’s jacket in much the same way he did his own and places in the same spot on the couch; Umber releases a little bit of tension at the sight.

 

“I’ll ask again, do we have a deal?”

 

“Two Kings, one unnecessarily self-doubting, the other undeservedly self-possessed,” Umber’s pride spreads across his lips as he makes small gestures of his pipe at each of the men before him. Quentin looks to Eliot, mouth agape in confusion. Eliot swallows his anger, trying not to let Umber’s words get under his skin. “In exchange for the clock to help your ill-fated plans,” Umber says, nodding slowly. “I suppose it could prove informative at the least.”

 

Eliot slides a finger through the meeting of his waist coat and slips each button loose. With less care than before, he folds his waistcoat in half and lays it across his jacket, just out of order enough for Umber to note with a glare. “Don’t touch this. Don’t touch that,” Eliot drawls, continuing his advance. He grabs a hold of his tie and shimmies the carefully crafted trinity knot loose. Umber begins to turn away, and Eliot closes the space between them from behind. While Umber’s back is turned, Eliot discards his tie, tossing it toward his other garments, not caring where it lands. He brings his face dangerously close to Umber’s, careful not to touch just yet. Umber swallows hard, but quickly straightens his posture and collects himself. Eliot smiles, pleased with the effect he’s having already. Popping the buttons of his shirt one by one, he brings his lips to Umber’s ear and whispers, “What can I touch?” His lips just barely brush against Umber’s skin. The involuntary shiver that runs down his spine brings a smirk to Eliot’s lips; he’s already thrown Umber off balance. Recognizing the moment of opportunity, he slips his hands beneath Umber’s cardigan and pulls it off his shoulders.

 

“Perhaps it won’t hurt to give Cuba a break,” he exhales a bit of tension.

 

“Consider this research,” Eliot says pulling Umber against him. He rolls his hips to make his meaning abundantly clear. Eliot slides his hands to his belt to continue to undress his captive.

 

Umber places a stern hand over Eliot, stopping him in his tracks. “I shall undress myself,” he commands, shoving Eliot’s hand off of him. He steps out from Eliot’s arms. “After you,” he says, pointing his pipe at his soon-to-be lovers.

 

Eliot slides his shirt over his broad shoulders. The firelight kisses his skin beautifully, leaving deep shadows to fill the recess of his collarbone and throat. He tosses the shirt haphazardly behind him. Umber’s full attention is focused on the garment strewn about his otherwise spotless floor.

 

“Leave it, a little chaos never hurt anyone,” Eliot says as he unfastens his belt. He steps out of his shoes and kicks them aside. Umber narrows his eyes in disapproval. Making direct eye contact with Umber, Eliot removes his socks and tosses them over his shoes, challenging him.

 

“I must differ,” Umber brings his hands back to their usual position behind his back.

 

“Emphasis on ‘a little’,” Eliot slides his pants and boxers of his legs in a swift motion. Once they’re completely off, he elects to fold them neatly before setting them on the couch atop his coat.

 

Quentin watches the scene before him, subconsciously rubbing his bicep and fiddling his fingers. “Don’t tell me you are waiting for me to undress you,” Umber says, appraising a very nervous Quentin.

 

“More like, still trying to believe this is really happening,” Eliot offers, trying to stop any tension before it can really start.

 

Quentin grabs his shirt with both hands and pulls it over his head. The fabric clings to his elbows and he fumbles around before freeing himself. Umber laughs, clearly delighted by Quentin’s awkwardness. Quentin pulls his shoes off with his hands, his socks following quickly behind. He notices Eliot absentmindedly stroking his cock, and loses his focus. Shaky hands undo his pants, one slipping beneath his waistband and over his cock, giving it a good tug as he watches Eliot. He steps out of his pants, tripping over himself trying to free his feet. Satisfied, Umber nods and unbuttons the top few buttons of his shirt.

 

“Umber, meet abandon,” Eliot says gently nudging Umber’s shirt. Umber slides the garment off his shoulders, folding it neatly. He sets it beside Eliot’s clothes on the couch, gently placing his pipe on top. A smirk spreads across Eliot’s lips as he pulls Umber in for a kiss. Umber’s response is a strange mix of resistance and curiosity. His lips part for a moment, but close tightly when Eliot’s tongue glides over them. His hands are still knotted behind his back, Eliot can feel movement in his arms that suggests Umber is nervously fidgeting with his fingers. Umber’s lips relax again, and this time Eliot slides his hand into the hair behind his spiral horns, Umber flinches at the touch, but wills himself to relax into it. A tentative tongue dips slightly beyond Umber’s lips. Eliot brings his own tongue to meet it, delicately stroking the tip. He pulls away gently, “How about we get you out of those khakis?”

 

Umber looks from Eliot to Quentin who is now standing directly behind Eliot, awkwardly palming his dick. Umber’s chest begins to heave with nervous breaths, his quickly beating pulse now visible in his neck. A self conscious hand reaches to his horns and down to his thigh. He sighs heavily, unsure of where to go from here.

 

A soft, sympathetic smile lights up Eliot’s face. He places a comforting hand on Umber’s shoulder, stroking small spirals before pulling him in close. “I can’t imagine you have anything under there I haven’t seen before,” he whispers into his ear with a low, raspy voice. Umber melts into his seduction for just a moment, but startles and straightens himself up. “And if you do, all the more fun! Right, Q?”

 

An equally nervous Quentin nods enthusiastically. He removes his hand from his crotch and tucks some hair behind his ear with a wide, yet shaky smile. Umber’s lips tighten, he’s clearly thinking hard about what to do next. Eliot nuzzles him behind his ear and says, “It’s your call. This is about pleasure.” He places a gentle, wet kiss to Umber’s neck and steps back, giving him room to make his decision. Umber nods, resolute, and snaps his fingers. His pants vanish as wild, coarse hair, asymmetrical horns, and unsteady goat legs are replaced with the well groomed, carefully curated human form he has selected for himself.

 

“I assume you believe the matter of your kingdom is of some urgency,” Umber says. “Let us begin.” With a wave of his hand, Umber manifests a handful of condoms and lube, neatly presented in a small organizer box on the table.

 

With a wicked grin, Eliot grabs Umber and pulls him in for a kiss. His tongue slides through Umber’s lips with a bit of force that Umber’s acquiescence makes unnecessary. Eliot has grown bored with niceties and takes this opportunity to seize Umber’s bottom lip between his teeth, biting hard, earning a soft moan out of Umber. With a gentle, yet commanding touch, he turns Umber around and grinds his hardening cock against Umber’s ass with a growl. Umber tenses up for a moment, but locks eyes with Quentin. Gazing hungrily into Quentin’s eyes, Umber reaches for Quentin’s hand and brings it to his own cock. Quentin strokes him with a loose, hesitant grip.

 

“I was promised balance,” Umber commands. Quentin swallows hard, a nervous giggle falls from his lips and he tightens his grasp on Umber, stroking him in earnest. Once Quentin’s participation is to his satisfaction, Umber brushes his hand away and reaches for a condom. With both hands, fingers delicately pulling in opposite directions, Umber carefully opens the foil surrounding the condom. He slides the slick latex from the foil packing, careful to place the wrapper neatly in the empty compartment in the organizer. With way more care than Eliot has ever witnessed in his life, Umber takes the tip of the condom between his thumb and index finger, squeezing out all the air, and places the rim to the top of his cock. Still gripping the tip between his fingers, he rolls the condom down his shaft with his opposite hand. Eliot and Quentin watch curiously, sharing occasional glances as they try to work out exactly where he’s going; they’ve barely started the foreplay.

 

“Necessary precaution,” he says. “Can’t have any God-powered magicians with foolish dreams of fixing Fillory running about.” He laughs, pleased with himself, and strokes his cock.

 

“You say that like it’s the clap,” Eliot attempts to bite back his offense.

 

“If anything is a sexually transmitted infection, Your Majesty, it’s humanity,” he says, pulling Quentin over to him. “That said, I don’t care how you handle your,” he pauses and shudders at the thought before speaking the word, “expulsion.” Eliot rolls his eyes at the unnecessary disdain. “But I need to keep mine from falling into the wrong hands.” Umber turns Quentin in his arms. Sliding a firm hand from the base of his spine up to his neck, he bends Quentin over and slowly kneads his small asscheeks in his powerful hands. Quentin braces himself on the couch, desperate to steady himself for what may come.

 

“Or mouth, or ass,” Eliot says, voice dripping with seduction. Not one to be outmatched, he grabs Umber by the hip with one hand, placing the other on his neck. With a firm tug, he pulls Umber’s hips into him and pushes his neck forward, bending him over so quickly, Umber barely registers what happened.

 

“So vulgar.” With that, he spreads Quentin open and brings his mouth to his ass. Quentin yelps, surprised, and Eliot can’t help but smile at him; he has no idea how adorable he is. Eliot reaches for the lube, pumping the nozzle to dispense a generous amount into his hand. He brings his slick fingers between Umber’s legs and slowly strokes his hole. Umber swirls his tongue along Quentin’s asshole, eliciting soft moans. Slowly; Eliot increases the pressure and starts to slip into Umber. He moans, the vibration causing Quentin to melt, pressing back against his tongue. Eliot strokes in and out of Umber, picking up the pace with each stroke. In time with Eliot’s fingers, Umber flicks and prods his tongue against Quentin, dipping into him slightly. He presses the flat of his tongue against Quentin and glides it down over his frenulum. Quentin exhales a sharp breath, moaning when Umber’s tongue returns to his ass. Eliot adds more lube and slips Umber another finger, the newfound fullness pulls a deep, guttural moan from him. Turned on by Umber slowly losing control, Eliot leans forward and sinks his teeth in Umber’s back, nearly letting his fingers slide out of his ass. Umber moans and pulls back from Quentin, giving his ass a firm slap that echoes off the glass surfaces of the room.

 

Turning to reach behind him, he palms at the table. Unable to reach without pulling away from Eliot’s magnificent fingers, he asks for assistance. “Your Majesty, would you care to pass me the lubricant?” Eliot laughs at the formality and grabs a condom from the box before scooting the bottle into Umber’s reach. Umber squirts some lube into hands and strokes it over his cock as Eliot fondles his balls behind him. As Umber lines himself up with Quentin, Eliot unwraps the condom with his teeth and rolls the latex down his shaft without ceremony. Umber slowly glides into Quentin, deep moans falling from his throat as Umber pushes deeper. Eliot strokes a lubed up hand along his cock, more out of arousal at the sight of Quentin then out of care for Umber. He watches Umber slide slowly in and out of Quentin, both of them lost in the pleasure of it. He brings his cock to Umber’s asshole, the sudden contact makes him jump a bit, but he quickly settles back into his rhythm. Eliot pushes into Umber, letting his thrusts into Quentin slowly work him further back onto his cock. Eliot groans at the feel of him, and thrusts hard. The momentum travels through Umber, sliding his own cock deeper into Quentin. The moan that escapes Quentin is nearly a whine, and Eliot can’t help but be endeared.

 

Umber picks up his pace, sliding into Quentin harder and faster while simultaneously riding Eliot’s cock. He’s determined to maintain a shred of control. Eliot grabs Umber’s hips, stopping the momentum so he can command his thrusts. He slams his length deep into Umber, earning a ragged moan, he isn’t going to give Umber anymore leverage. Umber acquiesces; letting Eliot drive the pace, he moves his strokes in time with him. Under Eliot’s direction, they devolve into a mess of moaning, ecstatic chaos. The slap of flesh against flesh, the sticky glide of lube displaced by rapid friction, and primal sounds of pleasure fill the room. In attempt to take a little bit of control, Umber grabs Quentin by the hair and yanks hard, pulling his head back. Quentin whines and pushes back onto Umber’s cock at the sensation of Umber’s soft hand wrapping around his cock. Eliot scolds them both with a rough stroke that knocks them all off balance. Lost in the passion of the moment, Umber is unable to hold his glamour. The carefully selected trappings of his disguise fall away, leaving the truth of his wild, goat shape in all its glory. Crowned with rugged, spiraled horns, and legs covered in coarse, knotted hair, the god growls in ecstasy. The sight is unlike anything Eliot has ever seen. He places both hands on Umber’s shoulders and thrust hard with renewed vigor. Umber shifts his hooves, bracing himself. The rapid pace causes Quentin to cry out, high pitched and overwhelmed. His legs shake beneath Umber and he spills hot cum onto Umber’s hand, dripping to the ground beneath him.

 

Eliot feels his own orgasm build up behind his cock. Slowing his pace, he quickly knots his fingers. His casting sends a ray of light to encircle the base of his cock, halting his orgasm until he is ready. Umber is going to be next to come. He wraps his hands around Umber’s hips, burying his long, ring-clad fingers deep in the rough hair. He doubles his pace, slamming deep and hard with each rapid thrust. He feels Umber tense beneath him, his whines sound more like resistance than pleasure.

 

“Let go,” he growls, keeping his pace steady. Umber pushes back onto his cock and lets his knees buckle as he bucks his hips. Eliot thrusts slow, deliberate strokes, making sure to hit the right spot as Umber rides out his orgasm. He leans forward and bites Umber’s neck hard, laying claim. Satisfied with his work, Eliot snaps his fingers, unravelling the spell around his cock. He gives Umber a few quick thrusts before he feels the pleasure explode from his cock. The sensation contorts his body, twisting his shoulders as it rolls its way down to his hips for one final thrust.

 

Eliot withdraws from Umber, and Umber from Quentin. Quentin collapses and erupts into laughter as Umber and Eliot slump, sated and spent. The firelight glistens off the sweat on their bodies, as they lay breathing heavily.

 

“You have more than earned your clock, Your Majesties.”


	2. Bacchus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quentin is determined to prove just how fun he really is.

The energy in the room is so pitched, Quentin can barely handle it. Flashing, multicolored lights flicker and dance throughout room with seizure-inducing abandon. The music is so loud it’s become a incoherent thrum between his ears and a rhythmic pounding in his chest. No two people are dressed like they’re going to the same place, if they’re dressed at all. The room smells of everything and nothing at once; it’s almost enough to turn his stomach. Quentin keeps telling himself that his hands keep wandering all over Bacchus to keep himself grounded, but it’s obvious to everyone in a three mile radius that Quentin’s touches are more than a little thirsty. His attention keeps wandering to stray details: smoke clouds, body glitter, singing, nipples, laughter. He doesn’t even remember getting on his knees, though he’s pretty sure it couldn’t have happened too long ago.

“Dude, you’re a vibe killer,” Bacchus says, bending down to admonish him.

“No,” the word practically flies out of Quentin’s mouth, desperate and disappointed.

“Yes, you are,” Bacchus points a scolding finger at Quentin. “And, historically, I do smite vibe killers.”

“No, look, I’m a vibe supporter,” Quentin says, pointing his own finger before gently placing a nervous hand on Bacchus’s leg. He has the softest skin he’s ever touched and his eyes are like looking into another dimension; it’s mesmerizing. “Let me show you,” he thumbs a soft circle on the inside of his knee.

“Sure you wanna do that, bro?” Bacchus sweeps his arm to gesture to the wild party raging around them. “In a room full of witnesses?” When Quentin doesn’t back down, he adds, “With cameras.” The warnings don’t deter Quentin. Before he has the chance to think better of it, he runs a curious hand up Bacchus’s torso. With his senses amplified by whatever the fuck Bacchus put in his mouth, each hair feels both overwhelmingly inviting and razor sharp. Quentin nods in response to the question he nearly forgot was asked, and places a kiss on Bacchus’s soft cock, still covered in loud, colorful swim trunks.

Bacchus turns out of Quentin’s grasp and makes his way over to a couch. He plops down abruptly, limbs losing a bit of balance before he settles. Quentin quickly follows him and resumes his place on his knees before the God of Drunken Frenzy. Quentin reaches for the waistband of the swim trunks, but they vanish before he can touch. Quentin furrows his brow and looks to Bacchus, eyes both desperate for answers and self conscious of his ‘vibe killing’ tendencies. The only response he gets is an apathetic shrug, as if Bacchus simply cannot be bothered to wait for him.

“All right, little dude, show me what you got.”

Quentin glides his tongue from the base of Bacchus’s cock to the tip, for moment it feels like he's never going to reach the end, but the feeling passes almost as quickly as it began. Lingering awkwardly at the head for a moment, he drags his tongue back down the shaft before taking his balls into his mouth. He sucks softly but quickly releases them with a wet smack. Unsteady hands find their way to Bacchus’s asscheeks, stroking with bated reverence. Quentin looks up at him with a crooked, hazy smile. Bacchus rolls his eyes and flings his wrist in a dismissive gesture. Determined to win his favor, Quentin brings his lips to Bacchus’s asshole. His tongue collides softly with the sensitive skin, licking curiously.

“Whoa! Didn’t know you had that in your back pocket, ‘vibe supporter.’”

Goosebumps ripple across Quentin’s skin and he giggles. The small amount of approval is all he needs to boost his confidence. He brings his tongue flush against Bacchus, allowing himself to really taste him. He’s not sure if it’s the drugs, or if this is just what it’s like having sex with gods, but Quentin is pretty sure Bacchus tastes of red wine and a decadent food he can’t pronounce. Intoxicated by the experience, Quentin moans. The room starts to spin around them. Twisting his tongue, he strokes deep, consistent pressure with the hope that it will stop the spinning. Bacchus hooks a leg around Quentin’s shoulder and pulls him closer. Encouraged, or perhaps simply surrendering to ecstasy, he traces wild shapes against Bacchus’s asshole, flicking and swirling his tongue. Feeling Bacchus’s hands snake into his long, messy hair, Quentin moans and deepens his inquiry. Bacchus props his legs up, giving Quentin better access. Quentin runs his hands along the underside of Bacchus’s thighs, revelling in the surprising smoothness of his skin.

Bacchus leans forward and presses the heel of his palm against Quentin’s forehead, pushing him away. Thinking Bacchus is over it, Quentin’s face drops, disappointed. When Bacchus turns around and presents him with his ass, Quentin lights up with a dopey smile before diving back in.

“Just switching it up, little dude. Can’t let the vibe get stale.”

Quentin nods vigorously with a hum, the vibration hitting Bacchus just right.The flat of his tongue glides firm and steady with just enough pressure to make Bacchus buck back against Quentin’s mouth. Hallucination or not, he can’t shake the taste of a warm Mediterranean summer. He reaches his hand around, gripping Bacchus’s cock hard. He strokes him in time with flicks of his tongue, periodically dipping down to lick his balls. Increasing the speed and pressure of his tongue takes way more focus than it should, and he struggles to keep his hand in time with his mouth. Bacchus takes his cock from Quentin’s hand and strokes himself firmly and without rhythm. Though Quentin is disappointed to need to be alleviated of the task, he’s grateful to not have to split his focus.

The urgency of Quentin's mouth against his ass causes Bacchus to buck faster into his hand. Quentin tightens his grip on Bacchus’s ass and flicks his tongue rapidly as Bacchus strokes himself over the edge. Wild jerks of his cock sends cum flying all over the place. Quentin flinches but it doesn't spare him from a bit of stray cum to the face. As if perfectly timed to coincide with Bacchus’s orgasm, glitter and confetti rain down on the entire party, accompanied by what sounds like exclamations of joy in nearly every language known to man, and few spoken only by magical creatures.

“Okay, maybe you aren’t the soggiest old cumrag in all of existence,” Bacchus says looking both immaculate and ridiculous. He’s naked from his waist to his knees, but still rocking his mismatched top hat, blazer, and fuzzy knee high boots. Quentin takes a seat beside him and releases all the tightness in his body as he melts into the couch. He’s completely satisfied with himself for a brief moment. If he accomplishes nothing else on his quest, he can at least say he’s had the God of Debauchery squirming beneath his tongue.

 


End file.
